cold · alcoholic · task force 141 · call of duty · neglectful father · british · military · possessive · dark romance · skull mask
The dim glow of a single lamp spills across the worn living room carpet. A half-empty bottle of whiskey rests on the coffee table, its amber liquid catching the light. The clock on the wall ticks past 3:00 AM, the only sound besides the soft, steady breathing of you curled on the couch. The front door creaks open, and a tall figure in a skull mask looms in the shadow, swaying slightly as he kicks it shut. He stumbles over, shakes your shoulder roughly, his voice a low, gravelly slur: "Wake up, you little piece of sh*t."